7/14/2016 2 Comments Five poems by Kofi Fosu ForsonCarter and Maria in the Desert My heart is a broken flower. Fuck me. Don't do that. Do it this way That is how The West was won. Hollywood cowboys cutting into film In screening rooms they cuss, cut create what we know as blue noir Belle Fleur was her nom du plume. She envisioned The Golden Age L'Age d'or, Bunuel hysteria. Suicidal chefs making chocolate roux She had a room with a view overlooking an archway within a garden Where she snail-tapped her way thinking male gender emasculation Mundo civilizado. Long drives along lonely Los Angeles highways In bloom, face like lilac, she listens to Cage the Elephant remixes What is this the press to play gee whiz affectations of entitlement? Must clouds creep so low - not while in our bathing suits we vent Cram disposable logic inside hot breezy quips that qualify as gizz Jazz. Thelonious Monk's Epistrophy. We zoom in and out of scenes Roles heartthrobs play man-sizing. Their star-lit lovers fib and faint Young Warren Beatty would do it differently. So would Paul Newman Perhaps the wife beater exposing his American flesh. Jack Lalanne No, a young Paul Newman wouldn't walk the floor porno pathetic He'd play her down like a boss man with a bow and an upright bass Watch him grip the fold of hair, tilt her head back lightly, breathe on With these words he'd say to her commands from a Southern beau Looking at a Ruscha painting and knowing where you came from This is Hollywood. North by Northwest. Mann's Chinese Theatre We fight among the cinematographers, grapple with our posture Maelstrom Bluest eye. Comment c'est. Pence to plus. I am a Muybridge Human heck silhouette figure sprinting from white euphoria In the arms of Bangladeshi woman I recall Marjorie Christie How else do Black Europeans dissimulate their whiteness? I murder roses place them ceremoniously over Brian's grave Jonestown Massacre. Blood red lips murmuring "Rosebud" Bonanza. Caribbean cowboys incognito emulate Roy Rogers Becoming Buscemi. There were once Rastafarian cavalcades. We now worship Wiz Khalifa. Long live King Jeru the Damaja! Aburi Hills, the night sky as Nina Simone glamorizing meth Music is a whore named Telula! She reads aloud The Bell Jar How the girls at Cal Arts cut into their skin the word "Awula" Ghanaian wunderkinds paint themselves dressed as Napoleon Lady Days at Bellevue Psyche with smells like cooked snails Mad men impersonate Emperor Selassies and Indira Gandhis In this world a black goth girl is considered bipolar case number Give me your industrial disease! Trade you for my hypothesis! Where the punks on dope smash guitars I inherit my ubiquity Of a Lesbian Body in an Episcopalian Church of stone. that bronzed element yet lily at heart fluttering. as if his feathers were of rooster at fight. king no less mirroring me, a pugilist shambling. poet collecting words like geese possessing the sky. he opens dictionary page words starting with letter "d" fixates on the word "diphthong". an example of which "oi". (oy) is it a punk as pig or does the word "pig" make you think of pig Latin? prospectus erectus "rospectuspay erectusway". opening paragraph Nabakov's Lolita. have you ever undressed a word to find its cult or key? have you ever heard of Throbbing Gristle? there's a great noise coming from the interim. I read Portnoy's Complaint as an alternative to shafting. bestowed upon me is the question of thus - am I an incorrigible thing? perceived as jaundice, nearly putting in verse dialogue for our conquest. much of what is said is unretractable. I am of this. it is my sermonology. you speak words hot in happenstance. we are not lovers. in this I possess you. taste of Camembert on the tongue. your phraseology, unnurtured, carries with it murmuring of a submissive interlocutor. in this our wrong-doing the reflective "I" purports a feminist stance. is it the "she" I sense in the ever-governing me? what I usurped from her spirit, her lesbian body as she stood before me, an Episcopalian in the church of God questioning my chi. Bird Man's Bronzed Coq Out Sir! Come out you he-body bruvva man! Resurrection from bones of this American Horror Story White Heads of Southern California claim your pigs Punk these gasoline thirsty barbarians with lead pipes Surf water serenading life guard - An Albino Dennis Hopper Auf wiedersehen - blue boys and gigolos on Venice Beach A demain - body builders and hustlers in bell bottoms To you I preach Easton Ellis monologues, Basketball Diaries We are at a breach between what is god and what is gutless The librarian claims our conversations are lovemaking actions A poet-thief who dreams Mastroianni's dialogue in La Dolce Vita Marcello! Marcello! Come si fa?! Come si diventa una celebrita?! Bird man from the Bronx speaks the part of Brando in Godfather He soliloquy's early morning as a police car circles the courtyard At night gang warfare erupts stressing Abuelitas walking Nietas King Felix tonight paint the corners like Georges Rouault Hank's men answer to me wearing pinstripes and baseball caps I call them ceremoniously one after another to the batter's box Standing smitten if I were woman I would flash my Double D's Ambrosia! Ambrosia! I the masculine feast on the femur The feminine at her post pubescent erotic grotesquely mature Haves at mon coq voluptuous grind bounces the buttocks beat Heart palpitating breathing strong breaths aroused hallucinating Virtual Misogyny At Martha's Vineyard love lives in trees. Come let us go We are acquiescing tempestuousness of middle-age coitus With neuroticism we seduce clit-lit bimbos in fuck and kill cafes Virtual misogyny where ghost like funk captures our imagination This is Ibiza by the sea navigating news feeds and timelines posts Where imago suicidal Dorothy Parkers cut blow as poetic verses Sanguine sun-night scintillating luminescence lifts my conscience Arabethic sexo-disciplinarian. God is country I claim citizenship Inside blue rooms I house corporate-cuntus fantasy girls meditating I was projectionist of these NC-17 brain wave art documentaries Colors of Vermeer paintings brought to life becoming faux nudism Narcissistic up and over I sensed cataclysmic voyeuristic terrorism Her caterpillar cat eyes under black hair ferociously piercing screen Catch and catapult I made muse-sense of her Warholian profile pic Fleshed out her Freudian body within mental pornographic celluloid Hunger for carnal knowledge envisioning us approximating intimacy Like Grade B movie actress modeling for a photograph by Weegee Come alive during sex scene of a Margaret Thatcher era British film She posed an American Anais Nin looking into me province of He Aromatic essence beauty captured by the face lamenting desire Red hues encompass each frame brilliantly and painterly evocative "Who would be magistrate of our mutual harassment kinky torture"? Potentially psycho in its inception we met death one shot at a time Bio: Kofi Fosu Forson is originally from Ghana, West Africa. He has written and directed plays for the Riant Theater. His collaborations include Gender, Space, Art and Architecture, a video project with Transvoyeur, Liverpool, England and Dismember the Night, thread poetry and photography project with New York City artist, Dianne Bowen at Tribes Gallery. As writer and poet he has published with Three Rooms Press and Great Weather for Media. As performer he has participated in productions of What the Hell is Love? And The Loser Project at Cornelia Street Café. He currently writes for Armseye and Whitehot Magazine, respectively.
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